Thursday, April 1, 2010

Unicorns and Pink Meadows

I hope you don't mind that some of the stories behind my pictures are filled with real life--and death. This story is painful--but ends with great hope.

I remember the day our beloved Grandmother Jenny flew to heaven. I sat in the upstairs hallway and cried in the dark. She ran into the arms of her Savior after a long hard night of struggle.

I began to paint. First a stormy reddish sky. As I wept, I crunched sodden browns, streaks of yellow and shadows of darkness into the murky horizon.

I sat back to ponder the stories Grammie had told of her life. Sharp peaks of hardship thrust through the years. She'd conquered them, one step at a time. I knifed thick paint from my palette, forming jagged mountains. Then tears as I covered the jutting peaks with cool snows reflecting pink from the angry skies above.

As I remembered her words of wisdom and faith, gentle tree-clad hills swelled beneath the mountains . . . I thought of her laughter, and the twinkle of her blue eyes and a bright meadow blossomed with faint pink flowers.

I smiled through my tears, recalling Grammie's vivid imagination. I retraced her wonderful stories peopled with elves and faeries. Then from my brush, the outline of a unicorn emerged. His white coat danced with pinks from the painful red horizon, reflecting the cheery pink flowers at his feet. His dark red and pink mane swooped joyfully against the mountains, and his face grew kind and winsome . . .

Spreading out from the unicorn's feet, yellow centers appeared in the pink flowers, twinkling vividly in the tender green grasses of the meadow.

I looked at that painting for a long, long time, thinking about how delighted Grammie would have been. Then I signed my name.

Painting has a way of expressing my heart.

In the hours I spent wielding my paintbrush, I worked through my pain, sorrow and feelings of anger and loss--to precious memories of my Grandmother's courageous life, to thoughts of her laughter and whimsey, to arrive in a place of peace.

5 comments:

It's so beautiful Beth! You made me think of my own dear Granny, who took care of me and my sister when we were babies after our mother died. Even after my Dad got remarried and she had to give us up, she always told me that I was hers. I think she was the only person who ever truly loved me unconditionally. She went to heaven 14 years ago and I miss her so much.

Peach Tree in Snow

About Me

My mother, Author Eva Gibson, says,"Everybody loves a story." These are the untold stories hidden behind each piece of my artwork. Some are whimsical or sad, others funny. There are stories rooted in science fiction and fairytales--some classical, others born from my imagination. Many pieces reflect my love for the Creator. Often, hidden behind my art, are stories from real life experiences. Indeed, over the years I've discovered the old saying is true. "Truth IS often stranger than fiction."

A midget who told me, when I was depressed about people making fun of me because we had no money and no new clothes and I was wearing everything second handed. He told me, "You are the only one in the world, make the most of it." -- Abe Lincoln, Artist, photographer (Ohio)

My Camera and Me

I carry my camera everywhere I go. Here you see one of my Cloud Paintings. I find unusual shapes, faces, animals in just about everything, especially clouds. Often I am able to enhance or "paint" my photos so others can see what my imagination has revealed.

What an honor to be a featured artist for this wonderful webpage!

A Fairytale Mind

This is a link to my favorite book reviewer. Rena Lanyon gives a well-written review from a youthful perspective.

When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I have not a single bit of talent left, and could say, "I used everything you gave me Lord."-- Darlene Pringle, Artist

"Life is not about waiting for the storms to pass....it's about learning how to dance in the rain."

You've Got Heart Award

Life should be measured not by the number of years, but the love shared, the memories made, the joy given, the blessings received.

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Old Woman Trees

The pine needles click…Click…Knitting stray wisps of wind
Into scarves of song.

~ Dorothy Marie Davis

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My stories and artwork may not be reproduced, copied, edited, published, transmitted or uploaded in any way without my written permission (which is easy to get via email).

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